Take It Out On Me
by narrazione
Summary: DEADLIEST CATCH: They don't say "I love you" often, but they say it then. Just whispers, so quietly that they can pretend they don't hear but know that they do. But there are affairs and families and every reason to keep it quiet and pretend that this isn't happening, that they haven't fallen in love as everything around them is on the verge of falling apart. (Northwestern)
1. Chapter 1

_Hi all! I haven't posted a story in a very, very, very long time, and that's because I haven't written in a very, very, very long time. Life really got the best of me for a while, and I just couldn't get the words on paper. But I'm in a pretty good place now, and I recently got this really big burst of inspiration for this story, and I'm so excited about it! I know I had some stories up when I dropped off the earth, and if you were reading them, I'm sorry that they're unfinished. I hope to get back to them one day, but they aren't coming to me right now. I hope they will one day. For now, I really hope you enjoy this story. I'll be honest - I'm rusty from all these years without writing or even reading, but I'm still really pleased that I'm even getting this all together and I'm so excited to share it with you guys. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Please give me any and all feedback, I could so use it!_

 _Do we still do disclaimers? Is that a thing? Well, if so, you all should know that I'm not at all affiliated with Deadliest Catch, nor am I writing anything that should be associated with reality or taken as a representation of real people._

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He knows it's her by the pounding on the door, a constant banging like he cannot get there fast enough. And he can't, really, because he knows what he is going to find on his porch when he opens the door, and this sick part of him has been waiting for it. It's late, well past midnight, and he has been asleep on the couch since somewhere in the middle of The Avengers, so he is stumbling and wiping sleep from his eyes right up until he opens the door. Just like he knew, there she is, looking mad as hell and more beautiful than ever. The wind from the upcoming storm whips hair around her face – it's a different color than last time he saw her, but any color is going to be stunning as far as he is concerned. Her face is flushed red with anger, and she's maybe still crying, maybe not.

They've done this dance a hundred times, so he knows the steps even though sleep still muddles his brain. He knows that she's going to shove him aside to crash into his house like a hurricane, a ball of negative energy that no one can contain even though she's trying and, God, he wants to take it all away from her. He knows he'll barely get the door shut before she's balling his shirt in her fists and crashing her lips against his. And he knows they'll end up in his bed in a flurry of clothes and growls and gasps, and he knows he'll have bruises from how hard she'll try to hold on to the only man that hasn't let her down yet, scratches from how she's trying to make sure that he's really there. And he knows he shouldn't, but he knows he loves it, and tonight certainly isn't the night that he's going to stop her. He hasn't found the strength yet.

He knows that when they have caught their breath, she'll rant. She will tell him every detail about how his brother fucked it up again, and he'll listen to every word. He'll trace patterns on her shoulders as she yells about her broken heart, and he'll plant kisses on her neck as she talks about the other man that does the same thing, and he'll hold her when she cries about how she's fucking up her life, and he'll tell her that she's not, that she's perfect, and she won't listen to him. And she'll fall asleep in his arms.

When morning comes, she will be gone. He'll know she was real from his sore lips, the bruises her fingers left, the fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. And in a week or two, or a day or two, or a month or two, they'll do it all again.

He knows that he loves her. He shouldn't. She is not his, if you're the type to say that one person belongs to another. But, dammit, he just can't seem to stop her when she comes to his bed no matter how much he knows he should.

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The first time he saw her, they were fighting, which was a sign that he didn't know enough to understand. His brother yelled at people all the time, so heated whispers with some girl off to the side wasn't exactly unusual. And it didn't really bother him that the conversation stopped when they saw him, because he had shit to say to that stupid brother of his, so some girl with rose petal tattoos fallin down her arm and lavender hair was really the least of his concerns.

But his brother hissed, "We'll finish this later," and stalked off, and she snapped, "Or you could just shove it up your ass, old man," and stomped away in the other direction, and no one seemed to mind that he was left standing all by himself. Which was not okay, as far as he was concerned. But his brother was too far away, so he reached out and caught her around the wrist, hand wrapping around black script on its underside that he would later come to know very, very well.

And for the first time, but certainly not the last, he said to her, "I hope my brother didn't piss you off too much."

At first, those dark brown eyes were still a little wild with anger, but when she realized it was not her previous sparring partner grabbing her, she relaxed in his grip enough that he felt ok letting her go without fearing she might walk away.

"No, I'm fine." He would hear that again, and he would never believe it. "Just a stupid spat."

"He's good for those. I'm Edgar, by the way. The newer, more charming Hansen model." He offered a hand for her to shake, but she didn't take it right away. Rather, she looked him up and down, searching for something that he hoped she would find.

Finally, she took his hand shook it surprisingly firmly. "Becca. I'm the new neighbor. The blue house."

"Ah, I wondered how you landed an invite to the summer barbeque."

She smirked. "Yeah, I'm renting over there. The Hansens have been really great, helped me move in and unpack and everything. Well," Becca rubbed her shoulder, fingers playing over dancing petals, "they're mostly great."

"Don't let Sig get you down. He's just a grouch, does it to me all the time. What was it, playing your music too loud?"

"Ah," she winced a little, watching something over his shoulder that was gone when he glanced. If he had to guess, though, he'd put his money on it being Sig, who was seemingly enraptured in one of John Hillstrand's stores.

"C'mon." He gave her a small nudge with his fist. "Eddy's here. What'd he do to ya'?"

"It's, um…" She licked her lips, heaved a sigh, and rolled her eyes one last time. "Like, Sig's great, okay? Don't think I don't like him, because he's been…he's been perfect. But he went off about my hair. He hates it, says no one will take me seriously."

Edgar had to laugh. Her hair was wavy and long and, sure, an unusual color but, come one, the woman was stunning no matter what color her hair was. "Sig has no say in your hair color. He's not your dad."

"Oh, I know, trust me."

"Well, I think it's pretty. Don't worry about his old-ass opinions."

"I know. It's just…Yeah, no, I know. Anyway, I'm fine. He's just annoying."

"You sure? Sounds like you have more to say."

When she smiled, her tongue caught between her teeth, and it was damn near the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

"You're so sweet, Ed. But, really, I'm fine. Sig's an ass, like he's your brother, sorry, but you know what he's like. And I've handled my share of asses in my time, so I'm not really worried about it. Now, enough about him. You wanna mosey over to that cooler with me and grab some beers or what?"

"I don't really drink all that much anymore, but we could mosey to that other cooler and grab some Cokes instead."

She fluttered a hand over her heart and looped her other arm, the one with the rose petals, through his so their elbows linked. "Why, Edgar Hansen, I do declare!"

"I told you I'm the charming one."

And he noticed the glare from his brother as they walked by, but he was a long, long way from understanding it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for checking out my story, guys! I forgot to mention last chapter, the title and inspiration for this story comes from a Florida Georgia Line song by the same name. If you're a country music kinda person, check it out!_

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He traces rose petals on her shoulder as she lays tangled in his bed sheets. She told him once that it was her mother's name – Rose – and she got the tattoo the day after her mother checked into the hospital she hasn't checked out of and probably never will.

Her wrist rests over his heart, the one that says _Always._ He likes the thought of _Always_ , but he knows in the back of his mind that she lays like this against his brother, and _Always_ is over that heart, too, and it's probably not true for either of them. Which is fair because his brother never should have started things with her to begin with, and he should have stayed away once he learned the truth, and she deserves so much better than either of their selfish asses.

But she comes back and she stays, so even if he doesn't deserve her, here she is.

"Why don't you ever tell me to leave?" she asks into the darkness.

He knows he could just not answer and she would drop it, and he debates doing just that, but the answer is so obvious and so simple that he has to at least say something. "You know why."

At least, he thinks she does.

"But you know you should. This is a mess. And you're an angel, and you don't need me fucking you up."

No one has called him an angel before, and he's not sure that she's right, but he's more worried about what she is saying about herself. He rolls onto his side so he can see her face, look into her eyes, say without saying that she is the angel and there is no one he would rather be in a mess with than her. He sees her understand, sees the switch in her eyes as they widen that little big with realization and soften with agreement. Feels her soft lips seal their fates with a slow kiss, his favorite kind, the kind that tells him this isn't just a physical thing for her, either. That this is real for her, too.

They don't say "I love you" often, but they say it then. Just whispers, so quietly that they can pretend they don't hear but know that they do. But there are affairs and families and every reason to keep it quiet and pretend that this isn't happening, that they haven't fallen in love as everything around them is on the verge of falling apart.

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"Well, I'm just glad that Sig is taking an interest in a neighbor for once instead of complaining about them not taking care of their lawns or something. I'm just impressed she can make such a nice living doing tattoos."

June glowed in the evening sun, as usual, as she poured herself another glass of wine and nudged her husband playfully.

"Mom, I think she's got family money or something, I don't think it's all coming from tats," Mandy corrected. "She mentioned something about an uncle maybe. I don't know, she's can be super vague sometimes. Maybe Dad knows?"

But Sig was staring off towards that little blue house on the corner, which was quiet now. June had mentioned that Saturdays were Becca's busy days, when she was at her tattoo parlor pretty much dawn 'til dusk.

"Dad." Mandy snapped her fingers in front of Sig's face. "Wake up!"

"Hmm?" Sig snapped his head around. "What do you want, child?"

"Becca! She had some rich uncle or something, right?"

"Oh." Sig sank back into his chair and rolled his eyes. "Hell if I know. She doesn't say shit about her life. Good kid, though."

"She's, like, 30, Dad," Nina snorted. "She's not exactly a kid."

"Yeah, _you're_ a kid, Neens," Mandy teased, earning herself a rude hand gesture that she returned, stopping only with a stern look from June. Edgar smiled, the sun warm on his face. Damn, he loved this little family. Almost made him wish he'd had one of his own, but it's hard to have a family when your wife leaves you after a couple years. Most fishers can't luck their way into what his brother found, after all. But that was all a long time ago, and these crazy nieces of his could fill that hole and then some.

"Well, she's a kid when you're my age. That's why I'm…" he waved his hands like he did when he couldn't find the right word. "Coaching her."

"Yeah, because an 80 year-old crabber has so much wisdom to give a 30 year0old tattoo artist," Edgar teased. Hey, his nieces weren't the only siblings around.

"Be nice, June scolded. "Sig's only 79." After a chorus of laughter at her husband's express, she added, "If he doesn't take care of her, he'll go back to bothering you, Ed."

Edgar slapped a hand over his heart. "Dear God, no, please, anything but that."

"That's enough of your shit," Sig warned.

"But you seemed pretty cozy with her at the barbeque, Uncle Ed." Mandy nudged him with a big, fat, dramatic wink.

"Oo, do we have a crush on the neighbor?" June giggled

"Girls, c'mon, don't be ridiculous," Sig grumbled. "He could be her father."

"Oh, lighten up, Sig!" Edgar laughed, brushing off his brother's bad attitude as always. "It's not like we talked about anything serious. Like you guys said, she's not big on the personal stuff, just her shop and moving in and stuff. I wouldn't have even spend any time talking to her if Sig hadn't gone all Captain on her."

"Daddy! Be nice!" Nina exclaimed.

"I was nice!" Sig snapped. "She's got a hard head, 'sall."

"Oh, yeah, unlike _anyone_ we know," June quipped, sharing a conspiratorial wink with Edgar. "You'll just have to make it up to her when you take her car shopping this weekend. I"ll make a coffee cake or something."

Sig waved his hands hastily. "No, no. I, uh, think she's got an allergy to, uh…something. Nuts, maybe? Don't make her things. I'll apologize. Now, can we eat?"


	3. Chapter 3

It was two weeks before he even thought about Becca again, but a "Don't tell Dad, but…" call from his niece changed that in a flash.

Turns out, the blue house had a seafoam green bathroom and shitty pipes. With the landlord out of town, Mandy knew Sig would shit a brick if he saw Becca in those cutoff shorts trying to pull freshly-dyed hair out of a shower drain, and she knew he could fix the clog without any trouble, and between her blood relation and Becca's panic, how on earth could he say no?

But a clogged shower quickly became a much bigger job, and two hours and three conversations with the landlord later, he had a himself a gentleman's agreement to just replace the whole damn tub.

He sat on the front steps, just hanging up with a place where he could get a new fixture, when she came out with a cold Sprite and a sandwich for him.

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble. I thought I just clogged the drain, but when the Drain-o didn't work, Mandy said you'd know what to do."

"You were right to call. For once, _this_ Hansen knows what to do."

She sat down on the step next to him and stretched out her long, tanned legs. "You say that like you're not usually the problem solver."

"Well, y'know, youngest sibling and all that. Our talents get ignored in favor of our boyish charm."

She snorted. "Wouldn't know. It's just me."

"You strike me as the type to have a horde of brothers always picking on you. No siblings?"

"Nope. Hard to have any siblings when Dad leaves when you're too little to remember his face."

"And Mom?"

For as casually as she dismissed her father, mentioning her mother made her squirm. Just a little. Just enough.

"My mom is sick. Has been for a long time."

He didn't miss how flat her voice sounded, and he knew that look. That hard, far-away, keep-it-together stare. And he knew not to push her. Not yet. "Sorry to hear that. Maybe you can talk to me about it sometime, if you ever feel up to it."

She smiled that damn adorable smile again, the one with her tongue between her teeth, the one that grew slowly so he knew she really meant it and really appreciated him and was really going to be the end of him. "I'd like that, Ed. Sometime."

He cracked open his Sprite as she answered some texts. Her hair was different from today's fateful dye – a light aqua on top ombreing into a deep turquoise at mid-back. In those shorts, he could see the tattoo on her thigh, the silhouette of a wolf in the woods howling up at the moon. And he could make out the subtle shine of her silver heart-shaped nose stud from this distance.

They ate in comfortable silence, dealing with their business on their phones and enjoying the summer breeze. She occasionally pulled a little pa out of her pocket to make quick sketches, but he didn't pry to see what they were. Seemed like her business, after all.

"You like art, then? With the hair colors and the tattoos and all?"

She chuckled. "Well, that's two different questions. My body is my business, and I figure I might as well make it mine. And I'm lucky enough to be in a business where all the piercings and crazy hair and tattoos are a plus. As far as doing this for a living, tattooing is the only thing that kept me sane for a long time. Drawing is nice and all, but tattoos, like, they really mean something. It's a whole different breed. And I worked my ass off to impress this super talented dude so he'd give me an apprenticeship, so I learned from the best, and now I'm pretty damn good at this. Which, like, I should be, 'cuz I've been doing it for long enough. I started when I was 18, y'know? And I've never regretted it."

"You really love it, huh?" He didn't really need to ask; it was written all over the glow in her face, which was looking more and more beautiful the longer he saw it. And he knew he was gone for this girl already.

"It's the only thing I could imagine doing. Tattoos are a story. They capture what's important to you at that moment in your life, whether that's the biggest thing of our life or a fun little random whatever. Like, I can be memorializing someone's mother one moment and putting a pizza on some chick's ass the next, and both decisions are just as huge to those people's lives. And how fucking cool is that? Who else can say that about what they do?"

"Is there pizza on your ass?"

She laughed a big hearty laugh, the kind that threw her head back, and she curled in towards him so their shoulders hit. "Oh, Eddy. Wouldn't you like to know."

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He found out about her mom when the car died. So much for Sig helping her buy a new one.

She was oddly antsy in his passenger seat, shifting around and ignoring her phone and avoiding his gaze. As much as he loved her nerdy phone noises (her text tone was R2-D2's chirping), when she ignored her phone for the umpteenth time in two hours, he couldn't let it slide any longer.

"Someone really wants to reach you."

"Someone can such his own dick for a while," she snapped.

"Well. Remind me not to piss you off," he muttered as he changed lanes around the idiot from Nevada going way too slow.

"Shit, Ed, I'm sorry," she sighed, rubbing her shoulder. "You're being so nice, driving me across creation at the last minute like this. I'm not trying to be a bitch, this is all just super stressful."

"It's fine. Cars never break when it's convenient. I'll take a look at it for you later if you want. I'm not great, but I might be able to diagnose it."

"Oh, God, you want to do more for me? Ed, please, you already fixed my entire bathroom, and you're hauling my ass two hours away. Now you want to fix my car? Don't you have better shit to do?"

"You'll find out, I'm painfully boring when I'm not fishing, actually," he assured her and she laughed that big laugh that threw her head back so the light hit off her Aviators and curled around her wavy hair (still blue) and caught in her smile. "Nah, but really, I don't mind. I don't have that much to do when we're not out fishing. Just promotional stuff, really. I don't mind helping you out, long as I'm not stepping on Sig's toes."

R2-D2 chirped. She ignored it.

"I'm a grown woman, though. I really shouldn't keep bugging you."

"Well, we all need help sometimes. I'm surprise Sig didn't take you, though. He's got a real investment in you, ya' know."

R2-D2 chirped. She shifted away, turning towards the window.

"Sig likes to be around when it works for him. And I appreciate his attention and all but…" She raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Whatever. He can be so commanding sometimes."

"Yeeeah, that's Sig. Trust me, he's like that with all of us. Don't take it personally."

"Let's just not talk about it, ok? I've got enough going on."

Well, he wasn't about to push her, not when she so clearly didn't want to talk. "Ok. Can I ask where we're going, then?"

"You're taking this right at the fence. We're visiting my mom."

Mom waited in what the nurse told him was the Common Room, sat in a bay window overlooking a garden that was mostly poorly maintained hedges. Someone sat at a piano with a lid that would not open. Two older men played chess in the corner. A few read, some sat talking to other visitors, a few watched Say Yes to the Dress in the corner.

One small woman, no older than Becca, sat on the floor in the middle o the room with her hands over her eyes while everyone went about their business around her.

"That's Mom," Becca murmured, as if speaking too loudly would break the calm spell over the room. She gestured to the thin woman in the window, much to his relief. They looked nearly identical – same ski-slope nose, same long limbs, same pointed chins and round cheeks. "Come meet her."

And he wasn't too proud of it, but he didn't really want to meet the mother that lived in St. Dymphna's Home for Severe and Persistent Mental Illness. But Becca took his hand and led him over, so he couldn't exactly say no. Becca stopped to say hello to the woman sitting on the floor, and the smile that brightened her face at being acknowledged could have inspired a thousand artists. Edgar wondered if anyone else had even spoken to her that day, or if Becca was the only person that took the time.

"Do you know her?" he whispered.

"No. But she's there all the time, and I figure everyone deserves to be acknowledged, right? She's a person." Just like that. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And Edgar wasn't too big to admit that he would have walked right by her, too, but here was someone who wouldn't. Becca was better than that, and he wondered what exactly his heart was getting him into.

And they sat in the window and talked like nothing was wrong. Becca told her mom about how business was really picking up at the shop and how she was invited to some convention in California in a few months. Edgar told them about fishing. Mom talked about painting and wanting to learn to crochet. Becca promised to see if she could bring her yarn. But when her mother tapped Becca's knee like conspirators and insisted to be told about this blossoming romance, Becca's cheeks flushed bright red.

"No, Mom, Edgar's not my boyfriend. He just gave me a ride today."

It seemed like an honest mistake to him, and he didn't really mind the mix-up. But it struck him as odd that her mother looked so confused. "Oh, but I thought… this isn't the one you-"

"No. He's not. I'll explain some other time, ok?"

And something in Becca's tone told him that there was more to this, but he didn't want to cause a scene in the Common Room of St. Dymphna's, so he did what he did best and tried to lighten the mood. "Hey, hey, Becs. You got a boyfriend you haven't told me about?" And he nudged her with his elbow and gave mom a big wink. And, ok, maybe the thought bothered him a little, but he barely knew the girl, so he ignored that pit in his stomach.

"No, I – oh my God, you two, stop it!" She giggled. "I'm never talking to either of you again!"

And they laughed and moved on. Her mother gave him a hug goodbye that was as warm as if he was her own child. Becca exchanged words with some nurses or maybe doctors, and they got in the car and started to drive back. It was nearly an hour before she spoke, but he wasn't about to rush her.

"What do you want to know about all this?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you think you want to say."

"She's sick, my mom. Today was a good day and it didn't look like it, but there are days that…She almost killed herself once. It's these voices she hears, y'know? They, uh, they overwhelm her sometimes. So, as good as she looks, know that she's not. She's really fighting."

"She's always been like this?"

"Like, when I was growing up? Yeah. I spent a lot of my childhood thinking it was normal for moms to talk to people that weren't there and lock up in the rooms for days on end and all that. It wasn't easy, but, hey, here we are. And she's lucky, she's in a really good place now."

"And she's got you."

"Well," she rolled her eyes, "I'm no prize."

"You're everything, Becca."

They pulled into the driveway singing Fleetwood Mac with open windows and big smiles, bellies full of McDonald's drive-thru. But the fun all stopped when Sig came stomping off of the porch.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to – Ed? What the hell is this?"

And something in her wide, frantic eyes told Edgar all he needed to know. Sig, the man that helped her unpack and cut her grass and helped her buy cars (although not very well), did not know about her mom. She wanted it that way. But for whatever reason, she trusted Edgar with this. That meant something to him, and he felt something hot and heavy and protective well up in his chest. So you best believe that he was out of that car and ready to go at his brother, even if his hands stayed in his pockets so Sig thought this was all just casual.

"Her car was smoking, Sig, so we went to actually look at replacements, see if I could help her more than you did."

Sig backed up a step. "O-oh. And did you, uh, did you find something?"

And he knew it was odd how quickly Sig backed off, but all that mattered was that grateful smile from Becca as she got out of the car to stand by his side.

"Do you see a new car?" she quipped. "No? Okay, obviously I didn't find something. Now, look, I'm sorry I ignored you. There was a lot going on. But if you promise to behave, I"ll let you take me car shopping tomorrow, and I promise not to bite even a little bit."

"Sounds like a good deal, Sig. Get her a good deal with your captain powers."

"C'mon, Sig. What d'you say? Forgiven?"

Sig stared long and hard before growling out his frustration. "Yeah, you know damn well you're forgiven. And you can even bite a little bit if you want."


	4. Chapter 4

It is hard to say how long he has been asleep when her shaking wakes him. It has started raining, so he knows that he did actually sleep for at least a little bit, and the full moon illuminates the room so he can clearly see the beautiful woman as she quakes in his arms. Her body shudders, the occasional whimper escaping her mouth, but her eyes never once flicker open. He tries to tighten his grip on her and pull her back to his chest, but her body only rebels against that and vehemently fights his hold.

"Becca," he whispers, but his voice does not seem to penetrate her nightmare. "Becca! Wake up." Still nothing. He wishes that he could shake her awake, but the nightmare wracks her body so much that he knows he would have no effect on her.

She squirms again, but her body stills momentarily, and he uses the opportunity to press his lips against the burning, sweat-beaded skin of her forehead. Her eyes immediately fly open, but they are not the eyes he is used to seeing. These were wild and lost and seem to look straight through him even though they find his eyes instantly. He takes his arm from around her waist and rests it on her cheek, lacing his fingers through her hair. That seems to focus her, and, after a heavy blink, she seems to realize that he is there.

"It was a nightmare. It's okay."

She is still for a moment, an odd contrast to the shaking of moments ago, and then her body slumps as realization strikes. "Shit," she hisses, squeezing her eyes shut. "M'sorry."

"It's okay," he assures her softly. "I'm here. Go back to sleep." He gently tugs her head back to his chest, and she is not awake enough to protest. Instead, she sighs into him, and her muscles relax as she returns to a comfortable position. He gently massages her temple and then moves his fingers down her neck and to her shoulders, something he remembers his mother doing when he was little, and she lets out a tiny moan that sens shivers right to his stomach.

The next time he is aware of her is when she shivers an hour or so later; it seems painfully obvious to him that she does not shiver from the cold, but he wraps her body in his in hopes that he can put an end to this. It is not surprising, however, when her shivering continued. His chest feels cool and damp, and a quick brush of his fingers against her cheek reveals silent tears.

"Shhhh," he soothes. "It's all right. I'm right here. I've got you."

He has no idea if her subconscious is aware of him or not, but he has to try. He has to wrap her in his arms and rock her gently back and forth, has to make those gentle circles at the base of her neck with his fingertips, has to brush his lips against her hairline. She has never felt so far away from him, lost in a world he could not access, and he has never wanted to understand someone as desperately as he wanted to understand her in that moment. He knows her pains, knows her stories, but he just doesn't know what he can do in moments like these. How do you take away the pain someone has carried for a lifetime?

Anger flares through him, starting somewhere deep in his stomach, as he holds her body against his. She is so close to him, but so far away, so alone. He hates every force in the universe that has done this to her; the things that make her so strong in the daytime have also made her so heartbreaking in the moonlight.

He kisses her forehead again and puts his head on top of hers. Silently, he sends a prayer up to a God he doesn't talk to much just in case someone is listening.

 _Please, God, let this be the last one tonight. Give her some peace. Let me help her._

She lets out a sob, and he clenches his teeth to hold in his anger at the kind of world that could do this to a girl. His beautiful girl.

"You're all right," he tries again. "You're safe."

"I know." The whisper astonishes him, but he keeps his tight hold around her and continues making those small circles at the base of her neck. Her voice is too tiny to be anything but a barely-conscious murmur. Her body sags back into his, and he reciprocates from relief. "You're here."

"I'm here," he agrees. "I've got you. I'm not letting go."

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He found out about the affair when he just couldn't take the questions swirling through his head anymore, and it damn near killed him but it didn't really surprise him. He called her to say that the needed to talk because it was just driving him absolutely crazy that she was all right with Sig moving hr furniture an accepting her packages and negotiating her car deals – her new CR-V apparently came at quite a steal between the two of their heads together – but wasn't all right with him knowing about her mother.

But it was the middle of the day when he couldn't stand it anymore, so of course she was at work. She told him to come on over if he was so frantic that he couldn't get a full sentence out over the phone, so he was finding himself pulling up to a little beige building with a black lacquer door and a pretty sick looking genie coming out of a lamp on the window advertising Three Wishes Tattoos. He could just see her cheeky smile, elbowing him in the ribs, saying, "Because I'm Becca _Grant._ Like, _grant_ your wishes. Get it?"

Which is exactly what she did when he asked about the name. He still gave her the decency of an eye roll and a groan because bad humor always has to be acknowledged, right?

Her hair was up in a sloppy bun today so he could see the tiny black and white cupcake tattoo on the back of her neck, and he had never thought she looked more like an artist than she did in that paint-splattered tank top with the giant armholes that showed her lacey coral bandeau and the tree curving over her ribs. He had never seen even a hint of that tattoo before, and it made him wonder just how many she had that he didn't know about.

Speaking of things he didn't know about. "You don't like Sig, do you?"

"Oh, we're jumping right in then, are we?" she grumbled, checking something on her laptop at the old wooden counter. "Pop a squat." She pointed to the worn yellow couch on the customer side of the counter. But Edgar was not sitting down, not after spending all week thinking about thisl

"I don't understand how you're perfectly fine with him being in your home all the time and helping you with all this stuff, but you're telling me about the personal things in your life and keeping it a big secret from him. How does that make any sense?"

"It's not like that. I'm just private, ok? Don't get so worked up." She laughed a little, the kind of light, nervous laugh people give when they know they're on the losing side. And Edgar did not think this was funny at all.

"Don't tell me how to feel, Becs. I've been trying to figure out why you're trusting me more than him here, and the only thing I can think of is that you don't actually like him as much as everyone thinks you do-"

"Ed."

"But that doesn't make any sense, either, because I don't know why you'd let him stick around if you don't like him, so then I'm stuck all over again!"

"Ed!" She rounded the counter to stand right up in front of him, the only way she could think of to get his attention. "I need you to calm down. I can explain."

"Can you explain it so I don't think you're a liar?"

"I…what?" She took a step back, and he thought for second that maybe he shouldn't have said that because she looked so hurt. But then her face hardened, and the fight was back on. "I never fucking lied to you. I never said that I liked Sig."

"I'm 100% sure that you did."

"Fuck, okay, yeah, I probably did, _shit_ , but it's more complicated than that. Sig is… _fuck_." She waved her hands through the air like it held the words she didn't have. "I don't want him around all the time, and I don't want all his attention, ok? I didn't ask for any of this, and I want it to just go away, but I don't know how, and it's driving me crazy. But he's got this way of just convincing you that everything's fine, and making you feel safe, y'know? And that's not easy to walk away from."

And that's when he started to wonder. Because that didn't really sound like a neighbor who wanted less help around the house.

So maybe he was still confused about what exactly was going on, but he could _feel_ her frantic energy in the air between them, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. And it was an instinct, really, to pull her close and wrap her in his arms and let her sputter herself out into his chest. It just felt right to use his thumbs to make soothing circles on her neck, right over that cupcake he noticed earlier, to shush her calm, to press his lips to the top of her head and then rest his cheek over that same spot.

When she finally let herself relax into him, he tried again. "Tell me what's going on, Becs. I'm right here."

"I can't."

"I'm right here."

"You'll hate me."

"I'm here."

"You won't stay if you know, and I want you to stay. Not, like…" she sniffed, and it was the first hint he had that she was crying. "Not like here, but, like, in my life. I don't want you to go."

"You told me about your mom for a reason. You let me come here today for a reason. I'm _here_. Tell me what's happening."

She took in a deep breath. And another. And a third. And maybe it was that third breath that braced her, or maybe it was his second kiss on the top of her head, or R2-D2's muffled chirp from somewhere further into the shop.

"I'm sleeping with Sig."

His first instinct was to let her go but his second was to hold on tighter as she fell apart in his arms, and he listened to that second one because, as much as his heart was twisting up and his head was spinning, he mostly couldn't bear how hard she was crying. And anyone could have walked in the shop at that moment, but thank God no one did, because all they would have seen was a beautiful girl clinging to Edgar as if maybe he could stop the runaway train he didn't even know he was standing on the tracks of. So he held her as tight as he can, hoping maybe he could take some of her pain away, stroking her hair, but he didn't tell her that it was all right because he just was not sure that it was.

Because, as much as he cared about her, even he had to admit that this was pretty fucked up. Sig was married, after all, rather happily, with two kids and a public image and absolutely no hint that he had be looking to risk all of that with a neighbor that just popped up. A neighbor that seemed to fight with him and avoid him more than anything. Then again, Edgar wondered if he had known Becca before all of this started; he suspected that he had not, and that would explain why she seemed so uncomfortable talking about Sig. If she had been sleeping with a married man the whole timee, she probably wouldn't be all that excited to talk about him. Made sense. Made way too much sense.

He wanted to be mad at her, but he couldn't be. Not after he had spent all this time with her. He could be pretty mad at his brother, though, and he let that happen. Let that anger well up at how Sig let an attraction get so out of hand. And maybe it was a little bit of jealousy, too, or maybe a lot of jealousy, because he cared about this woman, he really fucking did and he would not lie about that, and Sig had to go and do this to her.

His thoughts continued to race as she cried herself calm, and when she had nothing left to cry out, they just stood there holding each other in silence as the evening dim began to set in. And it was hard for him to tell if he was hugging away her pain or if she was keeping him standing at that point, because he felt pretty damn exhausted himself.

"What do you need to know?"

"What do you need to say?" Because there were a lot of things he could ask – how it started, did she want to end it, why didn't she love him instead – but none of it really seemed to matter. She obviously was not proud of it and did not want it – his soaked shirt could attest to that. And dragging out the story would not do anything but hurt, so why bother? He would find it all out in time, anyway, although he was hardly to know that at the time.

"I don't know what to say. I feel like I'm letting you down."

"You're not. Becs." He took her face in his hands to force her to meet his gaze. "I'm not happy, who the fuck would be? But don't think for one second that I think any less of you. We'll get through this, ok? I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."


	5. Chapter 5

He tried to tell someone about the affair so many times, more times than he could count. But at the same time, he never tried to tell anyone. There were moments, brief flashes, where he thought that he could maybe say something right now, that that could be the moment. But he knew what would happen if he did. He knew what June would do to Sig and what this all would do to his family, and he hated thinking about how his brother was tearing apart this family. But, selfishly, he didn't know what Becca would do to him if she found out that he brought this all down around them, and he was not sure he could handle it if he lost her. So, as much as he thought June should know, and as much as he might have wanted Sig to man up, he knew how easy it was to fall in love with that woman, and he knew how hard it was to let her go, so he might have faulted his brother for making bad choices, but he didn't do anything to interfere.

And he stayed true to his word. He promised her that he was not going anywhere, and he was a man of his word. When she wanted to talk, he listened, be it 1 PM or 1 AM. He found himself making a lot of trips to the shop to bring her lunch – he learned that she wasn't very good at remembering to eat when she was really excited about a piece or an upcoming appointment. For whatever reason, he agreed to borrow her Walking Dead DVDs even though he hadn't watched a new TV series in fuck-knows-how-long, and started texting her at random hours because Holy Shit Darryl. And so of course, he made her take all the John Wayne movies that got him through some of the worst times he could remember – if The Comancheros couldn't solve the problem, nothing could. So at the same time that he was sending her messages about zombies, he was getting messages about Wild West justice and bad hats. And it worked for them.

But, all too soon, the weather started turning colder, and the phone calls started coming in, and the contracts started piling up, and it was time to go back to sea. And she had her own business, a convention in Miami followed by three interviews for some magazines he had never heard of but were apparently worth streams of texts in all caps.

He had forgotten what it was like to have someone to say goodbye to, and it felt bittersweet. Because here was this amazing woman cuddled against him, sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching The Avengers (which he rather embarrassingly hadn't seen yet), and it felt amazing. But she wasn't his as much as he wished she was, and even more so, he didn't like knowing that she was so quiet and so clingy that night because he would be heading for Alaska in just two days. And he didn't like that he had lied to his brother about where he was that night, or that she had had to do the same thing. But these were their choices. It was what it was.

And then it was up to Dutch, and another winter of tying pots and throwing shots and taking the shit for leaking hydraulics. And he thought about her every day, and he came so close to asking Sig so many times. There were just too many times it could have come up, but then it just couldn't, could it? Not with the cameras and the storms and the other guys and the shitty numbers and the dozen other things that just made it a really bad idea to talk about something that he knew would cause a rift.

The closest they came was a few nights before the last offload. Edgar was taking over for wheel watch. It was late, the sea was calm, numbers had been good, nothing had broken for at least 36 hours, and the boat was finally just _quiet_.

So maybe it was the peace, or Sig's calm, or the ache in his back, or something bigger that he couldn't even put words to, but they were talking about being home for Christmas and seeing the family, and Sig mentioned that he thought Edgar might be glad to see Becca again. And it wasn't accusatory or suspicious or jealous, just a harmless comment because, yeah, it was obvious to everyone that they had been spending a lot of time together.

But Edgar was maybe a little tired of dancing around it all the time, and it was so far into a long season, and Sig was in the kind of good mood that he knew he could leverage, so he pushed it. That is what little brothers do, right? So instead of saying that he would just be glad to be home or to see everyone or something noncommittal, Edgar said, "Yeah, it'll be good to see her again. She's, uh, she's pretty amazing."

"Yeah, I know." Sig nodded. "And she likes you. Which might make her crazy, but it works in your favor."

"You trying to say something?"

"Me? No. Just seems worth noting. She doesn't like me that much."

"Well, maybe there's a reason for that."

Sig sighed and pushed out of the chair for Edgar to take over. "Yeah, I'd bet there probably is."

And that was it. That was as close as they came to saying they knew, and Edgar knew it didn't count for anything, but it felt like maybe he had a little bit of his brother's blessing. Not that it mattered unless Sig also backed off, which he couldn't imagine.

Then again, he also couldn't imagine the pounding on his door at 11:30 PM the first night back in Seattle. He couldn't imagine Becca rushing in as soon as he opened up, ranting about how angry Sig got about the new tattoo she got in Miami. And she was so happy it, the tiny little ocean wave on the inside of her Always wrist, but he thought she was trying to mark _him_ on her and lost his mind. But she wasn't, she insisted, she just wasn't, she would never get a tattoo for _him_ , she got it for _her_ and how dare he and how could he and why did he treat her like such a child and…

And it was just too much. He was sore and tired and he knew who that wave was really for and it wasn't for Sig at all. She was mad as hell and he was too mentally and physically exhausted to handle it, and this wave just washed over him, and he captured her face with his calloused hands and silenced her anger with his lips.

At first, she was too stunned for anything, but it took only a second for her to understand, and then she was kissing him back. She clung to his forearms like she needed him to stay upright, holding tight as she pulled herself as close to him as she could be. And her breath felt hot against his skin, and she tasted like the chocolate bar he imagined she ate on the way over because she always had one in her purse just in case.

They didn't sleep together that night. But they kissed and they talked and he fell asleep with his head on her lap on the couch. And when he woke up in the morning, she was gone. But there was a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen and a Post-It with instructions to text her for breakfast. They ended up at Denny's and talked like nothing happened, catching up on tattoo conventions and crabbing seasons as if they did not kiss for the first time 10 hours ago.

And he knew when he crawled back into bed to sleep off another crabbing season that that was not the last time he would kiss her, and it would only cause more problems. And he knew that he did not care what shit it would bring. He bring then that he loved the hell out of that woman, and he was so very done for.

NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNW

Months passed like that. They were home from opies for five days when Sig told her she reminded him of his daughter, and she ended up at Edgar's because she was a grown-ass woman successful in her career field that didn't appreciate being told she remind someone of their child. She came to the Norwegian Constitution Day Parade, and Edgar force fed her lutefisk and klub (and she only spit one of them back in his face). She convinced him to get a compass on his shoulder so he could "always find his way back home", and they both pretended that she didn't mean "his way back to her", and her apprentice gave it to him while she watched very carefully for any signs that this 19 year-old former delinquent might fuck it up.

And when he came back from salmon tendering, he thought about asking if she was still sleeping with Sig, because she had come over a few times but had not been mentioning him lately. But at the end of summer barbeque, a whole year after this whole mess got started, Edgar went to use the master bathroom because he had noticed exactly how long Norman had been in the main downstairs bathroom and was not about to put his life on the line like that. And he saw them talking, and he saw Sig brush a strand of her hair (fire engine red that day) behind her ear. And he didn't really need to know much beyond that.

So, three days later, when she asked if he wanted to come visit her mom, he said that he was busy. Which he wasn't. He was watching a Battlestar Galactica marathon, and while he actually did really like it (damn her and her sci fi), it wasn't exactly something he had to commit to. He's not sure why he lied, if he wanted to hurt her or just didn't want to see her or wanted her to come to him or _what_ , but she just gave a cheery, "Okay, maybe next time!" and hung up and didn't seem to really care all that much. Which just made him feel even worse about the whole thing. So he didn't really want to watch Battlestar Galactice anymore, but he didn't want to go to St. Dymphna's, and he wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't, but he wanted to talk to _someone,_ so he called the only person he could think of, which was probably not the best idea.

Because, was it really fair to drag Norman into all of this? Absolutely not. But it was too late; by the time Edgar realized he was going to explain to his brother how he was in love with the woman their other brother was cheating on his wife with, Norman was already on his way over. And Norm really hated changing plans, so if he cancelled at that point, he'd probably just get beaten up until he spilled the beans anyway.

So, he told Norman everything. He explained how he was completely crazy about Becca. To which Norm said, "I figured."

"But I can't just be with her, and it fucking sucks, and I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Because of Sig."

"Because of…you know?"

Norm just stared at him.

"Of course you know. Did Sig tell you?"

Norman snorted.

"Did you walk in on them?"

He nodded. "Not anything juicy, don't worry. They didn't see me, either, so…" He pressed a finger to his lips, the universal sign to keep it quiet.

Edgar flopped back against the couch. "Man, I saw them at the barbeque. And, y'know, I know it's going on. I was acting like, um, like it wasn't really happening or had ended or whatever, but I knew it didn't. When you don't see it, it's so easy to pretend. But actually being there…fuck, I don't know, maybe I was just lying to myself this whole damn time. Maybe I don't really mean anything to her and this whole thing is one big stupid game that's gonna screw me over."

"I don't know about that." Norman leaned forward as if he was going to impart great wisdom, but Edgar knew his brother and knew to let the silence that followed just sit between them for a minute while Norman figured out the best way to say what he wanted. "I see the way she looks at you. We all do. I think if you asked anyone, they would say that it's obvious she's crazy about you. Not that it makes this whole fiasco any easier, because Sig is being a fucking idiot, let's not lie. And at least one of you is going to get hurt in all of this. But I think, and maybe I'm wrong, but I really think you're going to be all right."

"You're probably right. But am I going to be all right with Becca in my life, or with Sig?"

"Well. I'm rooting for you."


	6. Chapter 6

It took three weeks for her to have it up to here with his attitude and come pounding on his door. Which he did sort of expect after he cancelled another Vikings marathon, although to be fair, he had told her at least four times that he didn't want to watch it to begin with. But after weeks of barely answering her texts and not making plans and pretending to be busy, he did sort of see this coming. He just did not think it would go down while Nick, Jake, and Sig were over watching the game.

But he recognized her habit of slapping on the door with the palm of her hand over and over and over, this rapid-fire pounding until he could open it for her. And he knew she would shove past him as if this was her home, too, and that would be fine any other day, but he said a silent prayer as she stormed inside that she would keep it under control that day.

"I've had just about enough of your shit, Edgar!"

The guys in the living room went completely silent.

"Becs, we can't…"

She used both hands to shove his chest. Hard. Which made him actually a little bit angry, because he really didn't like someone forcing into his house and physically pushing him around. "No, Ed, we're going to talk about this right fucking now. Why are you avoiding me?"

"No, Becs, no, stop…hey, stop pushing me!" He grabbed her wrists when she started lifting her arms just in case she intended to shove him again. "Stop! Calm the hell down. There are…" He wanted to keep yelling at her since she was yelling at him and he really didn't like this mini home invasion, but he forced himself to downgrade to a menacing whisper, which meant that he had to pull her close to him to be heard. "My friends are over watching the Seahawks. And Sig. In the living room."

"I don't… _shit_ …make them leave, Ed."

"No. We can talk about this later."

"No!" She insisted, pulling out of his grasp. "Ed, you've been avoiding me for almost a month, and I'm sure there's a good reason for it, but I don't know why, and I don't know how I'm supposed to fix this if you won't tell me."

"Christ, Becs, no, you didn't do anything. It's me, okay? This is a me thing."

"Oh, it's not you, it's me? That's what you're going with?"

"Can you…" Ed tossed his hands up in defeat. "Can you not do this right now? I'm being honest." So much for convincing her to leave without causing a scene. He could just imagine the three guys scrambling over each other to hear what was going on. "We should go outside."

"No, Ed, whatever. It's a 'you' thing, so I don't even need to know about it anyway. I'll just go the fuck home. Don't worry a damn bit about it."

And she just grabbed the door handle to leave, as if it was that easy to walk out on him. That made him more upset than being shoved or yelled at or any of it. He would _not_ be walked out on. So, he slapped his hand over the door to hold it shut when she tried to open it and, even though she was much stronger than he anticipated, he was able to keep her from pulling it open.

She rolled her eyes and set her jaw like he had only ever seen her do with Sig, and his stomach twisted up at causing that kind of frustration. But he was frustrated, too, and he needed to fix this with her without making it worse with Sig and making Nick and Jake ask questions and _this was a mess_.

"Look." He pulled up as closely as he could, and she let him press right up to whisper hotly in her ear. And he pretended that he did not notice that her breath hitched at his presence, and he glanced towards the living room to see if they had any visitors before continuing. "This is not easy for me, all right? I care about you so much I don't always know what to do with it all, and knowing that I'm not the only one in the picture is getting to me right now. I need to figure this out."

She took a minute to consider this, licking her lips and taking in the whitewashed doorframe in front of her. "I care about you, too. I'm sorry. I know this is hell. I just forgot that it wouldn't always go smoothly."

NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNW

That first fight was over a year ago now, but he still thinks about it sometimes. Not often, but every now and then. It has a way of creeping up on him when he least expects it because, just like he said, he cares so much about her that he does not always know what to do with it all, but then something happens to remind him that he's not the only one and it just _sucks_. She has been in his world for two and a half years now, but this is the first time he has honored her birthday. He only even knows it is today because her mother pulled him aside last week to tell him, and he feels more than a little stupid for not thinking about it before. She just never brought it up.

When he shows up at the shop with a small purple gift bag and a cake box, she orders him outside because "No food in the shop", which he did sort of expect because she's always so damn anal about keeping it sanitary in there. So, he puts the cake back in the car and comes back in with just the present to watch her finish up the pinup pirate she has been working on for three sessions now. It's on this hulk of a dude, ex-Marine maybe, who talks to Becca and Edgar like they're his oldest friends. Just real friendly, makes it hard not to feel happy around him. And he is thrilled with the finished piece and swears he is going to tell all his friends to use her, which Edgar has learned is always what everyone says but what maybe half of them do.

But what gets him is that, as she's breaking down the station and wiping down the surfaces, the guy gives Edgar a hefty pat on the arm and announces, "You're one lucky son of a bitch, you know that? This lady isn't just the best damn artist on the West Coast, she's one hell of a woman. If you weren't holding her down, an old fool like me might think it was worth taking a chance on her."

And what the hell is he supposed to say to that? Because Becca must have heard, his voice is deep and hearty and booming, but she doesn't react _at all_ , just keeps her back to them and keeps cleaning.

"Well, hey," he laughs and tries to keep it casual, but it feels like he is shaking down in his bones, "I don't know if you can say that anyone holds someone like Becca down. She holds you, you know?"

And the guy laughs like they've shared a big secret and leaves her tip with Edgar, which feels kind of wrong but then also makes perfect sense, and it is just the two of them in the shop. He wants to say that was awkward, but he doesn't, and he wants to ask why she didn't step in, but he doesn't do that, either. Instead, he holds out the wad of cash and mumbles, "Here's your money."

"Thanks! We can afford to go to dinner now!" She snatches the cash from his hands and shoves it in her back pocket as she rushes by to stash some equipment.

"Oh, we're going to dinner?" He raises his eyebrows gamely. "Says who?"

"Says me. You're here for my birthday, right? Did Mom tell you?"

"Mom told me."

She rolls her eyes. "She's got a fat mouth. If you insist on recognizing that I'm one more year closer to dead, we're at least going to do it over tacos."

"Oh, c'mon. I'm significantly closer to dead than you are. Don't whine."

"I'm not whining! I'm…resigning to fate. Now, what'd you get me?"

"Cake, but you made me take it outside."

"Don't whine," she teases, and sticks her tongue out at him. Her cell phone goes off, and he does not miss the way her smile changes when she sees who it is. It doesn't fade or anything, it just…changes. He can't describe how, but he knows.

"Sig?"

"Yeah. Ed, I don't have to…"

"No, it's fine. I should, um…I gotta take a leak anyway." He doesn't, and she knows he doesn't, but they both know it is better this way. He steps into the bathroom and runs the sink and answers that text from Jake and does actually use the toilet and takes his sweet time washing his hands and his face and catching his breath.

When he comes back into the main room, she is sitting on her stool by the counter, staring straight at him. She has supported one elbow on her counter and brushed that hand into her hair to hold her head up, and he can see in the tightness of her jaw that she is tired. Not sleepy, weary.

"Everything ok?"

"I don't know, Ed. You tell me. You're avoiding me again."

"I'm not avoiding you, Becs. I'm here. I brought you cake!"

But she glares at him, so he stops avoiding what she really means. "Edgar, you do this every couple months. Things are just fine between us, and then you start backing off all of a sudden. You bail on plans and won't hang out and leave the room, and you won't tell me why or let me fix it. And just as suddenly as it comes on, it goes away, so I don't know what I'm doing to make you like this."

"Becca, it's your birthday, let's not…"

"Let's. It's my birthday, and I want to understand why someone I care about is hurting, so that's what we're going to do."

He stands no chance of winning a battle of wills when she reminds him that she cares about him, so he takes a seat on the couch. She drags her stool over in front of him so his knees brush against her shins.

"What's going on, Ed? Is it Sig?"

"Of course it's Sig. I know why you're wrapped up, I do. I get it." And he really, truly does. Because he feels like he should walk away from this whole mess, but he is wrapped the hell up in her. "But that doesn't make it easy for me. And there are times when I just don't want to think about what's going on between you two. It's not easy thinking about the person I love in bed with my brother."

"God, Ed, I never thought about…I don't know why I didn't. _Shit_." She leans back on the stool from the sheer force of realizing exactly what kind of mess she is in, but he does not want her to go away, so he catches her hands to pull her back to him, and she holds on tight. "You have to believe I never want to hurt you. I never wanted any of this."

"What do you want?"

"Honestly? When I found out about his heart attack, and don't judge me for this," like he ever could, "this little part of me hoped that was it. He would have some big epiphany about fucking up his family and leave me in the dust, because I don't want that anymore, Ed. I only want you. But how do I leave him one day and then turn around and show up with you? How does that make this easier?"

It doesn't. It makes it easier for him but not for her, and he knows that, knows that she has no easy way to untangle this web, but he would burn the whole thing down just to hear her say one more time that she only wants him.

"I'm trying to figure it out, Ed. I am. I'm not going to lie to you and say that what I have with Sig is nothing, but it's not the same. It's only physical, but I know that has to still be so hard to hear. But what I have with you is more than that, and you know that. I love you. And I'm going to get us out of this. I just really don't know how. I just know that I am lucky as hell that you've stuck by me this long, and I swear to you that I am not going to waste your time. I promise."

"Becca, even if this all goes to hell, not one second has been a waste of my time. I promise you that." He pulls their joined hands towards him so he can press a soft kiss to her wrist, right on that tiny little wave. "I love you, too, y'know. And I know it's not easy with a grumpy old man who goes out fishing most of the year."

"You are a grump," she agrees, and he gapes in pretend-offense. "But you're a grump that bought me a present and promised to get tacos with me."

She pulls him to his feet as he reminds her, "I actually think you forced me to get tacos with you, but who's keeping track?"

"Shut your trap, grumpy old man, and don't forget to bring that present with us!"


	7. Chapter 7

Like most good things in his life, it does not last, but he is still surprised when it all crashes around him. The day starts innocently enough, as these things normally do – his back hurts, so he backs out of visiting her mom, and she understands because she's just amazing like that. The chiropractor squeezes him in, which is damn lucky, he meets Norm for a quiet lunch, and then goes home to soak in his bathtub and watch the Marlins and hope for the day to just be over.

And it's maybe six or seven o'clock when the phone rings, but he misses it. He is in the kitchen trying to get some kind of dinner together and his cell is on the couch, and he is moving too slowly to get over there in time. He does not think much of it and keeps cooking off those salmon patties that have been in his fridge just a little too long, but the phone rings again. And the voicemail chime goes off. Then it rings again. And again. And someone is knocking on the door and the kitchen is getting smoky and his back twinges from turning around too fast and he yells at the whole universe to, "Calm the fuck down!" but someone is still pounding on the door and the phone is still ringing but at least he pulled the patties off the stovetop in time.

On his way to the door, he grabs his phone and sees all of the missed calls and voicemails from June. And he knows. He debates acting like he isn't home, just going back to the kitchen, putting his salmon on a bun with some lettuce and a little vinegar and lemon juice and hunkering down for the night while the rest of them hash this all out. But then she calls out, "Eddy, please let me in," and her voice cracks a little on his name, and he knows he cannot hide.

When he opens the door, she launches into his arms. It hurts to catch her, a sharp pain starting somewhere below his ribs and shooting down his legs, but he keeps that to himself so he can hold her while she collects herself. She is not crying, but she is not okay, and he can feel that as she shakes against his chest. They stand like that with the door open through three more phone calls, but on June's next attempt, Becca pulls away and wipes at tears that have not fallen and shuts the door and insists, "You should answer that."

"What's she gonna tell me that I don't already know?"

Becca just gives him a look, that _do as I say_ smirk that is really more of a grimace right now, and she patiently falls into step behind him as he hobbles to the couch. He misses this call, too, and uses the silence to ease himself onto the couch. Becca sees the food spread out in the kitchen and assembles it for him, probably not making the salmon right but whatever, and brings it over with a beer and an assurance that she will return with a hot pack, "As long as you promise to call June."

"She'll know that I already knew."

"She deserves to know the truth."

He swallows a gulp of beer. "She doesn't deserve to have her heart broken."

"Yeah." Becca's back is to him as she rifles through the cleaning supplies in his hall closet. "Well, too late, I took care of that a long time ago." Before he can order her to stop beating herself up, she has found the Clorox spray and is leaving him to go clean up one of the messes he made in the kitchen. So, he takes a deep breath, and another, and one more for good measure, and he calls June.

And, just like he anticipated, it is the worst phone call of his life. Even in the midst of her personal tragedy, June thinks she is doing him a favor. The news is too fresh to have hit her yet, so she is not the mess that he expects, but rather a flat, emotionless friend calling to tell him the truth about the woman she knows he loves. But there is no hiding anymore, and when she realizes just how in the dark she was, fury hits her like a storm. She is crying, raging, calling all kinds of names and making all kinds of accusations that are not entirely untrue, and Edgar can only sit and listen as she puts all the pieces together. When Becca comes in with the heating pad, she can hear June's voice through the phone but tries to act like she does not as she adjusts the warmth behind his back so it hits just the right muscles, and then she vanishes again for her own good.

When June is all yelled out, she hangs up before Edgar can even contemplate defending himself. Not that he could. Becca slips in wearing his basketball shorts and a camisole to curl up on the floor in front of him with a cup of hot tea. The muted Marlins replay is the only light in the room now that the sun has gone down and he cannot reach a light from the couch. She could turn one on but does not, and he does not mind that. He wishes he could hold her, but if she tried to sit on the couch with him, it would only hurt his back more. His damn body is too fragile right now. But he can reach out and run his hand up and down her arm in a slow, soothing rhythm as she drinks her tea and watches the Rays absolutely cream their home team.

He wakes up to Let's Make A Deal and the smell of pancakes, neither of which he particularly wants to complain about. His back still hurts, but nothing like the night before, and he manages to sit up when Becca comes into the living room with his breakfast. They eat and talk like nothing is wrong, playing along with the morning game shows and making fun of each other's poor choices. He finds out that she is terrible at Price is Right because she has no concept of how much appliances cost, but he is really bad with the price of canned goods, so as a team they would stand absolutely no chance.

She tells him about her mom, who has taken up painting and makes some beautiful art. She has one in her car for him if he wants it, which of course he does. She promises to get it later even though there is nothing keeping her in the house at that moment except for a life insurance commercial. But he understands. If they open the door or check their phones or change out of their pajamas, they start their day, and there are too many things to deal with once reality begins. Right now, it is just the two of them, crappy morning TV, and a batch of banana pancakes.

He has so many questions, but he does not want to ask any of them yet. Is Becca all right? How did June find out? Where is Sig? What's happening to his brother's marriage? But all of it can wait.

Until it can't anymore. Somewhere in the middle of a Chopped rerun, reality knocks on the door. For longer than he is proud of, he considers ignoring it, but he overcomes that urge just as Sig yells his name.

"Not home!" He shouts towards the door, which makes her snort, but his brother is having none of it. Sig pounds a few more times and yells something along the lines of "Get your ass out here," which is a much harder task than his older brother probably realizes, but yeah, okay, he probably should go deal with this. So, he pushes himself to his feet and shuffles to the door and opens it up just enough to lean against the door frame and ask his brother, "What the hell do you want?"

"Is she here?"

"Does it matter?"

Sig opens his mouth, answer at the ready, but he stops and sinks back a little, losing a little of that intimidating height. "Well. No. You just…you tell her I know. And…" Sig rakes a hand through his hair. "And thank you."

"Thank you to me or thank you to her?"

But Sig is already down the stairs off of the porch and heading for a car, and Edgar wonders why it was so important to get off of the couch for this. He closes the door and turns to where Becca stands in the entryway, leaning against the wall just out of what had been Sig's line of sight. "You wanna explain that to me?"

She shrugs, arms still crossed over her chest. "Do I have to?"

And something about that just…well, it just doesn't sit right with him. Because he hasn't had the best night and his brother's marriage is falling apart and his sister-in-law hates him and he's being dragged out of his seat to get cryptic messages and the least he deserves is an explanation.

So, he should probably just say as much, but he is tired and frustrated and in more than a little bit of pain, so what comes out instead is, "Y'know what, you do what you want." Which is way more passive aggressive than he wants to be, but it doesn't feel exactly wrong to leave her standing in the hall alone.

But she follows, and it isn't exactly hard to catch up to the semi-crippled man, and demands, "What's that supposed to mean, Ed?"

"It means I'm a little tired, Becca. I didn't sign up to fall in love with the girl, yknow…" He gestures angrily through the air, still making a determined path for the kitchen and a fresh cup of coffee. "And I would just like, for once, to win out. To, to be your choice. But I can't even have that now that it's over. If it's even over with you two, which you've never even bothered to tell me that it is."

"Ed!" But her indignation doesn't really mean much when she knows that he is right, so she hovers uselessly as he tosses used coffee grinds down the garbage disposal like a man with nothing left to lose. "Ed." She tries softer this time, approaching carefully, reaching a gentle hand towards his as he rips open a new bag of coffee filters. "Let me do that."

He yanks the bag away. "Can you please just go away? Just, just leave me alone for a little?" He doesn't want to kick her out, certainly doesn't want his words to bite the way they obviously do, but he knows he needs his space right now or else he is going to say something he regrets. "I-I'm sorry. I need time to figure this out."

"Figure out what you want, you mean."

He shakes his head and finds comfort in scooping out new grounds. "You know I want you. I just need to figure out if it's worth being second place."

"Ed, you're not. You're my choice. You always have been."

"Don't. You know that's not true. How many times have we argued about this same thing, and you never stopped seeing him. It was always 'I have to figure things out' and never 'I know what I want' and I'm sorry, Becca, but I'm real tired of not being as clear a choice for you as you are for me. So, can you please just…" Just go away. Leave.

Maybe never come back.


End file.
